Tom Petty and the Three Rules for Handling a Public Meltdown

I've always loved Tom Petty's music, especially his songwriting. He's one of the few artists that I liked when I was 15 and still like 20 years later. To quote the immortal Office Space, I celebrate the guy's entire catalog, including the 1976 tune, "Breakdown."

One lyric from that song has always stuck with me: "Breakdown ... go ahead and give it to me ..." (If you know the song, you're probably hearing it now.)

What does Tom Petty and the song "Breakdown" have to do with a poorly timed temper tantrum?

For me, a lot.

For some reason, every time Annabelle has a public meltdown, I immediately think of "Breakdown" and replace it with "Meltdown." "Meltdown ... go ahead and give it to me ..." I'm not sure why, but it brings me peace, makes me feel strong, and makes me smile a little. It also reminds me of the three rules I follow whenever I face a public meltdown:

1. Keep your voice low and firm.
2. Never, ever make eye contact with other parents. (Pretend you're a man at a urinal.)
3. Talk about it after. 

So, this week, I found good ole' Tom coming into my mind as we left daycare on Thursday afternoon. I could tell Annabelle was tired as we walked out, which means she was already close to the edge. I floated the idea of stopping at Wendy's, which was met with great enthusiasm.

"Okay, just put your card on," I said, referring to her trusty white cardigan sweater. "It's cold out there."

"No."

"Hun, come on. It's not warm out at all. You're going to be cold."

"Daddy, I don't want to put it onnn ..." The "on" dragged a bit and had a sniff of a whine in it.

"If you want to go to Wendy's, put on your card," I said, firmly, ignoring everything I know about the ineffectiveness of short-term incentives.

"Noooooo!"

We were now outside and the tantrum train had left the station. The tears started to come as we walked by her teachers and friends into the parking lot. The long, heaving sobs. The plentiful tears. The continued yells of "No!" If you're a parent, you've been there. If you aren't a parent, you've seen them. I was facing a standard 3-year-old meltdown. Still, I persisted.

"Annabelle, please put it on," I said, remembering my first rule.

Meltdown, go ahead and give it to me. 

"No!"

At this point in a tantrum, fully engaged, I often draw on another lyric from the song: Meltdown, it's alright ... it's alright. 

"Please," I said, my eyes firmly locked with Annabelle's, remembering my second rule.

"No. I don't want to! The cold never bothered me anyway," she said, quoting Elsa from Frozen and reducing me to a puddle.

She finally relented and we got in the car with her tear-stained eyes. Following Rule 3, we talked about it a bit after.

"Why were you so upset, Annabelle? Why did you cry?"

"Because I was sad," she said. "And the cold doesn't bother me anyway."

Fighting through the cuteness, I reminded her of my (and Bridget's) first job: To keep her and Aurora safe and healthy. She smiled, said she was sorry, and, seconds later, was noting the yellow car that we had just passed.

Meltdown, it's alright ... it's alright.